We'll Dance Until No One's Left
by ckeller48
Summary: Because we all start with our own dreams, but when you find the right person your dreams can intertwine and form a common thing to aspire to.


**Author's Note: This comes out of my girlfriend complaining that I haven't written Faberry in a while. So this is commissioned specifically for her. Basically she told me she wanted a long-term one-shot that documents them building their life together, so I hope that this lives up to her (very high) standards. It's not beta-ed (as she's my working beta and I wanted to surprise her). The title comes from "our" song: I Can't Wait by Runner Runner.**

We'll Dance Until No One's Left

The train pulls out of the station and I wonder to myself for a moment if I'll ever see Rachel Berry again. There's a Metro North pass in her purse and I know that we have the means to see one another, but I feel like I'm the kind of person that Rachel wants to leave behind as she starts her new life. In my mind, the passes will go forgotten until they expire, eventually being tossed with silly mementos from high school. I have one too and I could show up in New York anytime I want to surprise, but I know I won't. After everything I've put Rachel Berry through, it needs to be her to reach out.

I only hear from Rachel through mass e-mails that she sends weekly to update us all on how amazing her life is. It's hard to see her name pop up in my inbox, knowing that the message will be generic, although dripping with her bubbly optimism. Sometimes I respond, always keeping it short and never offering any information on how my summer weeks in Lima are going. It's always about Rachel: her classes, her new roommate, and her growing ambitions. It works for us and she always makes a point of giving me a short thank you in response.

Yale is a lot harder than I ever imagined. Even while eight months pregnant I was able to breeze through AP classes at McKinley and sitting through my classes makes me realize that every person at Yale is easily as talented as I am, if not more so. I walk slowly back from my last class on Friday afternoon, my bag feeling heavy on my shoulder from lack of sleep. It's only been a week and I've already been to the library three times until the middle of the night to work on assignments.

My roommate, Taylor, is lounging on her bed with a biology textbook propped against her pillow. She looks as worn down as I feel and I am able to smile a little knowing I'm not alone in my misery. I drop my bag with a clunk against my desk and open my laptop. My inbox is filled with ridiculous spam from Brittany and class messages from my professors. Scrolling down, I see that there's one from Rachel. I figure it's the normal weekly update so I open it without reading the subject title, figuring that hearing about how amazing Rachel is doing will make up for the fact that my first week of college has been hell.

It's not a mass email. It is addressed to me and only me.

_Dear Quinn,_

_I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to give you a personal update since my departure. I appreciate that you've been reading my updates and have taken the time to respond to a few of them; it's nice to know that someone has taken an interest in my budding career. I know that you started classes at Yale this week and I was just curious about how they were going and how you were doing. While I'm sure you are still settling in there, I wanted to know if you were free sometime in September for a visit. You are welcome to come to New York if you'd like or I could make time to visit you in Connecticut (that is if you still want to use the passes as initially intended)._

_I'll keep this brief as I'm sure you have a lot going on there. Hope to hear from you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Berry_

My mood immediately lightens at seeing a personal message from Rachel. I didn't realize how much I really needed to hear from someone from home and knowing that someone cares how my first week went makes it feel infinitely better. I send her an email back immediately, giving her bare details about how my week actually went, though citing that college is more work than I had anticipated. I tell her that I'd love to use the passes, but I don't give a specific date, not wanting to seem too eager to escape New Haven for a weekend.

It's a Thursday night three weeks later that my phone rings. I'm sitting on the floor of my dorm room with Taylor eating pizza and watching Grey's Anatomy when it happens and I scramble to grab it off of my desk before it goes to my voicemail. I know it can't be Santana; she'd never call during Grey's and my mom and I usually speak on Sundays and Wednesdays so I figure it's not her unless it's an emergency. The name lit up on my screen is about the last one I figured on, but I swipe my thumb across the screen to accept it either way, running into the hallway for a little privacy.

"Hey, Rach," I say shyly, pacing in the hall in front of my door.

I can hear her blow her nose and then sniffle for a few seconds before she speaks.

"Hi, Quinn," she tries to respond, but it comes out muffled from her stuffy nose.

"Rachel, what's wrong?" I ask, genuinely concerned despite not knowing what to do to help her. We're hardly friends despite our little steps towards it. I've never been Rachel's go-to confidante, but here I am trying to be that person for her over the phone.

"It's Finn."

My heart immediately drops. He's the last topic I ever want to discuss with Rachel again. Last time I tried to be involved in their relationship, I ended up in a wheelchair.

"He left the Army and surprised me in New York." I wait while she blows her nose again. Finn being in New York was what Rachel wanted in the first place so I'm not sure why she's so upset. "I think we broke up. For good this time. He left and he's not coming back."

I'm speechless because I thought that we were going to be stuck with the nauseating image of them together forever, holding hands and looking all starry-eyed at glee reunions until they finally had the bad luck to reproduce, bringing with them tiny little Rachel-Finn combinations that were louder than her and more whiny than him.

"I'm sorry," I reply, trying to feel genuine about it. I bite my tongue, knowing that I shouldn't give my opinions on the matter, even if I know it's definitely for the best.

"You were right all along, Quinn. We were too young to be getting married and too stupid to realize that our dreams are so different."

"You're not stupid, Rachel." It's out of my mouth before I really think about it. Rachel seems surprised that I'm defending her. "Why don't you get away from the city and come to Yale this weekend?" I add, trying to bridge the awkwardness of this conversation. Rachel hadn't brought up visiting since her first email and I didn't press the issue. But now seemed like a reasonable time if it meant getting Rachel's mind off of Finn for a few days.

"Are you sure you're not too busy?" Rachel asks, her tone hopeful.

"Of course not. Text me tomorrow and let me know what time your train gets in."

"Thanks, Quinn. You're a really great friend." I blush a little at Rachel's statement, knowing that I've been anything but a good friend to her for so long.

We hang up and I head back into the room. As soon as a commercial comes on, I tell Taylor that my friend is visiting for the weekend. She asks a million questions, wanting to know all about this Rachel girl that I've never talked about before. I find myself bragging about Rachel, eventually pulling my laptop down onto the floor between us so we can watch videos of Rachel singing. Taylor is beyond impressed and I feel proud that she's my friend.

I pick Rachel up from the train around dinnertime the next night. For some reason, I get a weird feeling that she's coming home after a long trip. She's pulling her bubblegum pink suitcase behind her as she walks along the platform to where I'm waiting for her. She stops in front of me and surveys me before we speak. I blush under her scrutiny, cursing myself for not getting a haircut this week and for not changing out of the skinny jeans and Yale hoodie that I wore to class that morning.

Rachel smiles widely despite all of my flaws and announces that she's going to hug me now. I don't object; it's the first physical contact I've had since I hugged my mom when she dropped me off at Yale a month ago. I insist on taking her bag as I lead her out of the station and over to my new car. My mom insisted that I still drive after the accident, forcing me into therapy until I'd finally get behind the wheel again. Today I'm thankful for it as we climb into the SUV that feels like it's built like a tank.

We have a quiet night in with Taylor and a couple of the other girls on my floor. They all seem star-struck by the presence of Rachel; apparently Taylor had passed along the videos that I had shown her the previous night. I'm glad to see Rachel in her element, talking about music and NYADA and life in New York with vigorous passion. We all eat take-out and listen to music and drink cheap wine and I find that I'm really starting to love it here and I love sharing it with Rachel even more.

Figuring out sleeping arrangements later on in the night is a little awkward. Taylor is passed out on her own bed having drunk a little too much. I try to be gallant and offer Rachel my bed, saying that I'm happy to take a sleeping bag on the floor. She refuses, citing that my injured back shouldn't be sleeping on such a poor surface and that she can't believe I didn't ask for special permission to bring my own orthopedic mattress to college. We go back and forth for fifteen minutes before I finally just suggest that we share the bed. Rachel's eyes go wide, but she agrees. I'm not sure if it's from the wine or not, but we climb in and immediately mold into one another in the tiny dorm bed with no qualms. I've never been this close to Rachel in my entire life and I can feel the burn creeping up my neck and taking over my cheeks at the feeling of her pressed against my side.

I stir early the next morning, feeling Rachel squirming beside me in the narrow bed. She apologizes softly as she tries to untangle herself from the sheets and climbs over me to grab her toiletries. I slide out of bed too, grabbing my robe off of its hook and handing Rachel a clean towel before leading her to the bathroom. We shower in stalls next to one another, yelling over the sound of running water as we do so. I find myself laughing at Rachel's stories about her classmates and I find myself wishing that she would sing because I miss hearing her voice. The water shuts off in her stall before I have a chance to ask.

We go to the dining hall for breakfast and I help Rachel hunt down some of the limited vegan options, mentally chastising myself for not thinking of this sooner. She's perfectly happy with her bland cereal and soymilk though and we end up laughing over breakfast as well. She's bubbly and more relaxed than I ever remembered her being in Lima.

It's not until that evening after dinner that Rachel really breaks down and starts talking about Finn. We've covered every possible topic as we hung out all day in order to avoid the inevitable. I know everything about Rachel's classes and her peers and who is her biggest competition for the lead in the freshman musical in the spring. I've told her all about my life at Yale and I've shown her around campus, so really there's nothing left to talk about except Rachel's failed engagement to the boy we once fought over.

I try to listen more than talk, letting Rachel cry and stroking her hair when it seems necessary. The more she talks, the more I find myself wanting to hunt down Finn to give him a swift kick to his crotch, but I know that'll just upset Rachel anymore so I try to reign in my anger. What it comes down to is that Rachel is finally free from the anchor that was going to keep her from reaching her full potential and I try to highlight this, making sure she knows that she's got her entire life in front of her.

It's then that she mentions kissing a NYADA junior named Brody. First, I can't stop thinking about what a stupid name it is. Then I get a surge of anger. I'm not sure if it's directed at Rachel or Finn or this new guy that's using Rachel for his own personal gain (I'm sure of it), but I'm angry and my cheeks are flushing and it takes all of my willpower to not lash out at her. She's been the brunt of my misplaced anger for too long and it's the last thing I want to do to ruin our weekend together. In the end, I just continue to hold her and let her talk about her confusing feelings about Brody and about how much she hates her dance class and how much she wishes Kurt was in New York with her.

The next morning I take Rachel to the train and we hug goodbye on the platform like old friends. I realize that I actually enjoyed spending quality time with her and I tell her so. She lights up and hugs me again before skipping off to catch her train, her little pink bag bouncing behind her.

We start to get into a pattern, talking almost every day, visiting once or twice a month, and before I know it we're closing in on the end of our freshman year. Taylor knows Rachel almost as well as our friends from Lima do and I've come to know where everything is kept in Rachel and Kurt's kitchen in their Brooklyn loft. We've molded into one another's lives little by little until it feels like things have always been this way.

I've watched Rachel go through guy after guy, obviously still looking for her perfect leading man. I've discovered myself slowly, realizing that I spend more time admiring my female classmates than the endless stream of guys that try to pick me up with cheesy lines and poorly tasted compliments. It's what makes me nervous as I ride the train to New York.

Rachel is understanding and sweet throughout the whole awkward conversation. By the end of it, I have to convince her that there's no way I'm going to allow her to throw me a coming-out party. I do let her Skype her fathers, who congratulate me wholeheartedly and tell me that they're always there for me. It's warming to know that they care so much about me after such a short time in a way my mother never has seemed to.

It's that weekend that I realize Rachel has become my closest friend. Despite having gone through a similar thing, it's not Santana I turned to when I needed help dealing with everything that's been going on inside my head. It's Rachel and she says everything I needed her to say. That night we climb into her bed together upon her insistence that my sexual orientation has no affect on our previous sleeping arrangement. Thankfully her bed is a full, so I have some room to spread out from her. I feel warm being in such close proximity to her and I immediately push down any thoughts that it could be something bigger than it is.

The semester ends and despite how insanely stressed out I've been, my grades are nearly impeccable. I have an internship in New Haven for the summer and I'm subletting a house, so after my last final, Taylor and I pack up and move across town. My bedroom is simple, but it has a little window seat and once my stuff is set up, it feels like a perfect place to spend the next few months.

Rachel calls me to tell me that she's back in Lima for her short vacation and that it's not the same without me around. I've never really spent much time with her there, but I still feel a little nostalgic that I'm missing our first summer home. She'll be back in New York in four weeks to take extra classes in an attempt to get ahead at NYADA though.

I'm working 60-hour weeks for pretty much no money, but I love every minute that I spend in my little cubicle. It's a small publishing firm and all I do is read manuscripts, but it's quiet work and it suits me.

After a particularly long week, I get back to my house to find Rachel sitting in the kitchen with Taylor. She jumps up when she sees me enter and throws her arms around my neck. I feel my heartbeat increase under her touch and I shrug out of the hug as quickly as possible without hurting her feelings. Taylor looks at me like she understands and I turn away before it gets too overwhelming.

I pick up Rachel's bag from by the front door as I lead her through the house and up to my bedroom. She's talking a mile a minute and I can't focus enough to listen to her incessant babble about nothing of importance when I really just want to know why she has randomly showed up in New Haven when she should be settling back in at NYADA.

Once the bedroom door has closed behind her, I focus my attention on her. Her hair has recently been cut; the ends are shiny and healthy like the rest of her loose curls. She has grown up immensely since graduation and, in all honesty, she's grown even more beautiful.

"Quinn, are you okay?" she asks, pulling me out of my assessment.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted from work," I reply quickly, feeling embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I should have checked with you before just showing up here. I just missed you," she says honestly and my face softens. I don't want her to feel like I'm upset with her.

"It's fine, Rach. I'm happy to see you, really," I respond convincingly. She looks a little less stressed at my admission.

I flop onto my bed and gesture for her to join me. She climbs on and settles right against me, her body warm in the summer heat. Her legs are exposed in tiny white shorts and I feel my mouth get dry.

"What brings you to New Haven anyway?" I ask. As much as I'm sure that Rachel missed me, she wouldn't have shown up unannounced with absolutely no reason.

"I wanted to see you," she responds too quickly. I quirk my eyebrow at her as I wait for the real reason. "And Jason and I broke up," she admits, her head drooping.

"Thank God. He was another Finn trying to ride your coattails to fame, Rach."

Rachel shrinks under his name and I immediately regret saying it. We avoid mentioning her ex-fiancé at all possible costs. I don't know how to recover from my comment.

"I don't know why I keep picking such jerks," Rachel says quietly and I can hear the tears in her voice.

"It's because you're too good for pretty much every guy in New York," I say soothingly, stroking her silky hair that is resting against my shoulder. "You'll find your Prince Charming when the time is right."

We spend the weekend catching up and lounging around my house. It's relaxing and I fall back into my comfortable routine with Rachel. I bite my tongue on multiple occasions as Rachel tries to justify her failed relationships. I shouldn't want to tell my best friend that I would be a million times better for her than any of the assholes she seems to choose instead.

I drive Rachel to the train station on Sunday morning and I don't shy away when she hugs me tightly and doesn't let go. Rachel's arms have quickly become my favorite place to be.

Her train pulls into the station and she's forced to let go of me to take the handle of her suitcase. She waves to me as she disappears off the platform and into the train. I wave back, missing her petite frame in my arms already.

Rachel and I spend almost every weekend together for the entire summer, rotating between New York and New Haven. Rachel stays single for the remainder of it, choosing instead to spend her Saturday nights sitting next to me in dark theatres or coffeehouses. We go hiking in New England when she visits me and we learn every corner of the City when I go to see her. I find myself dreading the start of the new semester when we won't have time to visit as often.

After my last day of work, I immediately hop on a train to enjoy our last weekend together before school starts again. Grand Central Station is bustling when I pull in and I immediately hop on the subway down to Rachel's apartment. The route has become second nature and I have come to enjoy my trips to New York more than I had ever imagined.

Rachel is attempting to cook dinner when I walk into the apartment. It should be weird that I have my own set of keys, but walking into the loft feels more like home than Lima ever did. She smiles widely and then looks nervously back at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

I deposit my bags in her room before shooing her away before she can ruin the entire meal and she sighs in relief, telling me that I'm always rescuing her. I joke about the fact that she has lived alone for a year and still can't make the most basic of things, but I'm glad that I'm needed here. She turns the radio on low and sings along happily as she cleans lettuce and prepares the salad. I notice that she's wearing an apron that her dads bought her for Hanukkah that is pink and sparkly and has a gold star on the front with her name embroidered in it. She looks adorable and happier than I've ever seen her and I feel the warmth spread through my entire body. We're just friends and we'll probably only ever be friends, but at least I have the ability to make Rachel Berry smile like that.

School starts back up and I fall into a routine immediately. Sophomore classes are more interesting and I find myself loving every minute of them. The dorm feels cramped after the summer of living in the house, but Taylor is still living with me and for once I feel like I've made a genuine friend without all of the insanity of high school drama tainting it. I get lost in literature day after day and I catch this girl in my British Lit class eying me up as I answer a question and I quirk an eyebrow at her, not sure what it means.

She catches up with me after class the following week and we walk to the dining hall together, continuing the discussion from class. I find myself intrigued and she's obviously really intelligent and I'm not sure what comes over me, but I ask her if she wants to have lunch together. She agrees and formally introduces herself as Kiley as we head inside. We find a small table off to the side and spend hours talking about literature and I find myself enamored with this girl sitting across from me.

Kiley and I have lunch together a few more times over the next week, typically following Brit Lit. She's interesting and funny and I find myself looking forward to seeing her after class. When I tell Rachel about my new friend over our video chat date, she acts kind of weird. When I call her out on it, she asks me if Kiley knows I have a crush on her. I stumble over my words and get angry with Rachel for suggesting that I can't just have friends that are girls. We end up hanging up angrily. It's the first time we've fought since high school.

I feel bad for the way I lost it at Rachel and I hop on a train to New York as soon as my Friday class gets out. I make it to Grand Central before dark and I am unlocking Rachel's door with a bag of her favorite Thai takeout just around dinnertime. What I don't expect is to see Rachel with her tongue down some Finn look-alike's throat on her couch. She jumps up with panic all over her face at the sight of me standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Quinn!" she says with a little too much enthusiasm, eying the oaf in her peripheral.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude. I'll come back later," I respond and turn on my heel to leave.

Her hand finds my arm and stops me as I reach the stairs. My heart is racing and I'm angry when I shouldn't be. Rachel didn't know I was coming. She was in the privacy of her own apartment. She's allowed to do whatever she wants without running past it me first.

"Quinn, please. Come back to the apartment." She's pleading and I have such a hard time resisting doing anything for Rachel. I turn to face her and I can see her worry etched in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for ruining your date. I just felt so bad about the other night so I thought I'd visit to apologize in person." I'm staring at my shoes because holding her gaze hurts too much. Her lips are still red and swollen from her make-out session with Finn 2.0.

I let her lead me back into the apartment. NYADA Finn has gathered his stuff and is shrugging into his jacket. I choose to stare at the scuffed wooden floorboards.

"I guess I'll be going. Call me later, babe," he says in a gravelly, deep voice. I catch Rachel turning and giving him her cheek to kiss as he tries to say goodbye. He shrugs again and lumbers out of the apartment.

I start to apologize again, but Rachel cuts me off, instead asking me how my trip was and I give into her. We have a quiet dinner together at their rickety kitchen table before I move my bags into her room and change into sweatpants. We lounge on the couch cuddled up together watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. Our friendship is learning to weather our issues and I feel so content when I feel Rachel's head sink onto my shoulder as she passes me the bowl of popcorn.

On Saturday we spend most of the day wandering around our favorite places in Manhattan, her arm linked with mine as we walk. I'm immediately brought back to all the lazy afternoons we spent together all summer and how much I've missed her over the past few weeks.

"So how are things with Kiley?" she asks tentatively. I can feel her body tense against mine as she asks.

"They're fine. I told you that we're just friends."

"What are you scared of, Quinn?" she asks, pushing me just a little bit farther.

"What do you mean?" I reply quickly, staring ahead down the street.

"You obviously like her. Why aren't you even trying to be happy?" Rachel holds my arm tighter like she thinks I'm going to pull away from her. Sometimes I forget how well she knows me.

"First of all, I have no idea if Kiley is even gay. Secondly, who ever said I'm not happy? I don't need to be in a relationship to have a shot at happiness, Rach. You might want to try finding happiness somewhere beyond guys that look like your ex."

I knew the last comment was biting and I feel Rachel retract from me, but she still refuses to let go of my arm.

"You're lashing out because you're scared. You did it to me for most of high school and you weren't able to get rid of me. I'm not going to turn away now because I know you need me to help you deal with whatever it is that you're going through."

I know she's right, but I'm furious at her thinking that I can't be happy without being with some random girl that she's never met. Kiley is interesting and fun and should be everything I want in a girl, but I'm standing on the sidewalk in New York City with Rachel clinging to my arm and don't want to be anywhere else in the world. I love her and I hate that I love her because she only looks for validity in asshole guys.

"You can't help me," I whisper, not fully trusting my voice right now.

"Why not, Quinn? Just let me in. I've been so patient with you and you're slowly letting your walls down, but I'm not going to let you down. Just please trust me."

"You have all the power to hurt me." The words slip out and are immediately accompanied with silent tears.

"What are you talking about?" Rachel asks, obviously completely confused.

"I love you, Rachel. Kiley can't even come close to how I feel about you."

There. I let her in. Rachel pulls my arm so that I'm standing facing her. I can't read her expression but my heart is pounding so hard that I can hardly think. She bites her bottom lip and I nearly lose it.

"Oh, Quinn," she breathes. I feel the electricity explode from where she's still holding my arm. Her voice makes my body ignite.

I don't expect what happens next, but before I have time to think about it, Rachel has stepped forward and her lips are pressed against mine. Tears are still running down my cheeks and my hands are shaking with emotion. It takes a really long minute for me to come to my senses and push her away, ripping my arm from her grip in the process.

"What kind of fucked up joke is this? Seriously, I finally let you in and you think it's funny to mess with me? Call your new Finn if you are that desperate," I spit out harshly before turning and storming away.

I wish my lips weren't still burning from where hers had just been and that my jacket didn't smell like her favorite perfume. Everything around me smells like Rachel and I desperately want it to disappear.

She's chasing me and before I know it, her heels are clicking on the sidewalk right behind me and I can hear her heaving from loss of breath. I don't want to turn around. I want to get my things and disappear from her life forever.

"I'm sorry. I didn't handle that right but can we please talk? Please don't run away, Quinn."

I turn to look at her. Her face is red and blotchy and soaked in tears. Her chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath and her beret is crooked on her head. I give the smallest of nods and she lights up.

I let her lead me back to her apartment and I accept the mug of herbal tea she hands me before she settles onto the chair across from me. I'm thankful for this little bit of personal space. I couldn't handle being any closer to her right now.

"Your words," she starts, but stops abruptly, looking up into my eyes. "They did something to me. I've never felt so special in my entire life. I've been waiting forever to have someone feel that way about me and truly mean it."

"This isn't all about you getting to have experiences for your life story, Rachel. This is my actual heart, my actual every day feelings. This isn't just something I can use for my memoir later down the line."

"You don't get it. Hearing you say those three words made me feel something that nobody else ever has. You actually love me with every ounce of your being. And I love you too."

I sip my tea, not knowing how to answer her. She still hasn't really made her point.

"I know you do, you're my best friend," I reply figuring it's the easiest. "And I don't want to lose that, but you need to understand how freaking hard this is on me, how hard it is every time I lay next to you in bed or listen to you cry over yet another jerk."

"No, you aren't understanding me. I love you. I'm in love with you." Her words ring out loud and clear in the quiet room. I know my jaw drops. "Why didn't you make me see it earlier?"

"Rachel, I can't take being your experiment. I'm sure of my feelings and you've had this random epiphany but I can't just run into your arms and feel safe right now."

"I understand. But I want to prove it to you. How about we start by you letting me make you dinner?"

I chuckle. The idea of Rachel trying to actually cook anything is comical and is definitely a recipe for disaster.

"How about you take me out for pizza instead?" I say, trying to save us the grief of a ruined meal.

"At least let me take you to a real restaurant. You deserve a romantic first date."

I return to Yale on Sunday with my head in the clouds. Rachel gave me the promised romantic date, complete with a single rose and a walk through Bryant Park and a shared bottle of wine on her fire escape as she sang softly to me. The whole train ride back all I can think about how perfect the night was and how Rachel was right, love is already making me happier.

It's nearly the end of our sophomore year before we finally sit down to have "the talk." Rachel has been a perfect lady, not pushing this relationship to move quickly or forcing us to define this before I'm ready. But it's hitting the point where people ask and we stutter like idiots because we haven't defined it for ourselves. So I take the train to New York and Rachel meets me back at her apartment after her Friday afternoon class and we sit. And we sit. And we stare at each other. And then sit in silence some more.

"Would you like a glass of wine or something?" she finally asks.

"God, yes," I breathe with a tiny inkling of relief. This is brutal. I have no idea where to start and Rachel is obviously waiting on me.

She hands me a glass of chilled white wine, which isn't my choice beverage but I'm sure at this point I would drink Everclear from the bottle to make this situation less awkward.

"So…" she begins and I cringe at how awkward we're being. She's sitting across the room from me in her armchair just like the first time we discussed this. I gulp my glass of wine down in record time and get up. I stop in front of her and pull her to her feet. Rachel looks insanely confused and altogether adorable. I tug her closer to me, planting my hands on her tiny waist and looking deep into her eyes.

She doesn't stop me when I start kissing her or when I brush my tongue along her lips to deepen it. She doesn't slow me down when I let my hands slip beneath her blouse to caress the warm flesh of her abdomen. It's better than talking but she's getting the message: I want her and I want this.

Slowly but surely, I move us to her bedroom and lock the door behind us. Rachel is looking at me, bewildered but obviously receptive to my new plan of action. I nudge her gently onto her bed and I press myself down on top of her, reconnecting our lips. Her hands tangle themselves in my short hair, holding my face down against hers. We've done this a million times, but the air is thick with understanding that this time it's different. This time we're not stopping.

"Quinn," Rachel mumbles against my lips, turning her head slightly and loosening her grip on my hair. "Is this what you want?"

"I want all of you," I say, my voice deep with desire. I feel her body undulate slightly beneath me. "I want you to be mine."

Apparently we don't have a need for a big formal talk. I love Rachel and I have for a long time. I trust her to not break me into tiny pieces and I know she trusts me. We've done this for almost eight months: the bi-monthly visits, the handholding, the making out, the romantic dinners. It's all been a process leading up to giving my heart completely to Rachel and trusting her to keep it safe.

Rachel's hands move down my back steadily, sliding over my ass and down the back of my thighs until they can grab the hem of my dress. She inches it up slowly, exposing pale flesh in her wake. I kiss her passionately, pouring all of my emotions into her lips and she returns them without hesitation. I wiggle a little, letting her get the dress up around my hips. Her hands settle on my sides beneath the material as she slows us down, her fingertips brushing tenderly against my heated skin.

We kiss slowly, passionately for what feels like hours. I've never felt more connected to Rachel; I've never felt safer in my life. She reads my movements and her fingers grip my dress again, pulling it north until I'm ducking my head to let it come off completely. Rachel has seen me like this during our millions of sleepovers, but this is so utterly different with the way her hands are grazing my bare back in exploration, the way her eyes take in every square inch of flesh. I don't feel judged despite the thin stretch marks that mar my stomach and hips from my teenage pregnancy or the red scars up the majority of my left side where a car left me temporarily paralyzed. I feel beautiful and like I'm on display in a museum with the way she's looking at me.

I get the urge to feel her skin and I push her blouse up, exposing toned stomach that is moving up and down with her breathing. She hisses through her teeth when I lean down and brush my lips along her taut abdomen muscles. I feel them clench and I smile against her, knowing that she's feeling everything that I am in this moment.

I sit back on my heels, my legs straddling her waist and pull her up off the bed so I can discard her blouse easily. My hands immediately graze along the lace of her bra. It's completely new territory for me, but the way Rachel pushes hard into my hand, I figure I'm doing something right. I let my fingertips dance along the material, exploring slowly and letting my mouth work against hers again. Her kisses are growing more frantic and I'm exhilarated by the affect I can have on her from such a simple motion.

"Please. More." I groan at her needy one-word sentences and reach behind her. The clasp is between my fingers and I fumble for a minute before the material slackens and her bra slides off of her shoulders. She tosses it onto the floor carelessly and grabs my hand again, pressing it against her chest. I can feel her hardened nipple pressing against my hand and that alone is enough to send a flood down between my legs. The slightest feeling of Rachel's skin against mine is more than I've ever needed and I feel overwhelmed at how huge the emotions are.

I lay her back down softly on the bed and she immediately starts pawing at my back, undoing my bra with surprising ease. I shrug it off and let it join hers on the floor before collapsing back down on her. We groan simultaneously at the skin-on-skin contact and I feel my nipples tighten with arousal. She's moving as much as she can beneath me, rubbing our bodies together in a slow, sensual wave. Every nerve ending is buzzing and my head is fuzzy with lust. I pull away just enough to look into her eyes and I see nothing there but unwavering love.

That alone is enough to push me forward into this unknown situation. I slide off of her onto the far side of the bed and she rolls to face me. I let my hand glide down her body, tickling her abs, squeezing her hip, dragging my fingernails along the inside of her pelvis. Her breath is coming out in little puffs and her chest is flushed and heaving. I grip the top of her shorts and yank the button open, tearing the zipper down as I do so. She whimpers in pleasure at my aggressiveness and I start tugging them down her thighs. Rachel wiggles with me until they're around her ankles where she can kick them off. There is the tiniest bit of fabric separating me from her most intimate area and the thought alone is exhilarating.

We kiss again, hands wandering slowly with uncertainty. I adjust to her movements and her tiny noises, lingering on her hip when she whimpers, adding more pressure to a twist of her nipple when she groans against my mouth. It's research at its finest: full of exploration and trial and error to find what makes Rachel Berry fall apart.

Hours have probably passed, but in this bed the world feels timeless. There's nothing except for me and Rachel and our quest to learn everything about one another. It's slow and caring and unbelievably tender, but it's everything I need to tell me that this is real, that she loves me as much as I have always loved her.

I shimmy down the bed a little until my mouth is even with her chest and I take one nipple in my mouth, rolling my tongue along its pebbled surface. She releases a noise that is in its own class for how sexy it sounds rumbling from her chest. I'm invigorated and I want to do anything to make her do it again. I move my tongue again, repeating the action and I'm rewarded with the sound again. I could live on making Rachel Berry sound so freaking amazing.

My hands are getting antsy and I stroke her hipbone, sliding inward on her pelvis until I'm grazing the edge of her panties. Her body naturally moves towards me, trying to increase the pressure from the feather light touches I'm gracing it with at the moment.

"Please. I need you," she groans, covering my hand with hers and urging me to move downwards.

As much as I don't want to rush this moment, I want all of Rachel. I want to make her feel like nobody else ever has. So I loop my fingers through the sides of her panties and tug. She moves with me and I discard them rather easily. What I don't expect is for her to immediately do the same. I let her, feeling incredibly vulnerable yet safe as my last layer of protection is peeled away. Her eyes are locked on mine as we face each other and I can actually feel the love radiating between us. Rachel is the only thing that exists in my world at this moment.

"Together?" she asks, her voice shy and unsure. I automatically smile because I love getting to see this side of Rachel that everybody else never gets to see. She's not the overly confident Broadway-bound diva, she's just Rachel, the girl I've fallen in love with.

"Definitely," I respond with confidence, letting my fingers move slowly through neatly trimmed curls until I'm cupping her. She mimics my action and I groan softly at how amazing it feels. I know that I'm soaked, but so is Rachel and all of it just turns me on that much more.

We move slowly, exploring each other carefully, sliding fingers through sticky hot wetness. Sometimes she moans or her breath hitches and I repeat the action, drawing out her little moments of pleasure. She does the same, causing me to roll my hips sometimes as I look for even more.

She moves her hand further down and I do the same, biting my lower lip harshly as I feel her finger right against my entrance. She pulls back slightly so that we can clearly see one another's face and all I can see on hers is absolute bliss. I move back in quick, kissing her passionately, pouring every ounce of what I'm feeling into her lips. Her finger presses, pushing into me gently and I moan against her tongue. I'm lost in an explosion of fireworks behind my eyelids for a second before I follow her lead and allow my own finger to slip inside her.

Rachel immediately tightens against me and I pause, letting her adjust to the intrusion. It only takes seconds before she's rocking her hips and kissing me hard again, blatantly urging me on. We continue exploring, changing our rhythms and motions every few strokes until we're both speeding towards an explosion of pleasure. Rachel is much quieter than I ever imagined she would be, but I train myself to listen for her small intakes of breath and I follow the movement of her hips.

She tenses all of a sudden, her muscles seemingly frozen. I'm startled by how tight she becomes around my finger and I slow down slightly.

"Don't. Stop." she breathes through gritted teeth and I get the message loud and clear. Her own finger has stopped between my legs as I focus completely on Rachel, speeding back up and resuming the rhythm that seemed to give me the best reaction. Her brow is furrowed and she's breathing so heavily and I watch her face contort and then release as her body begins to shake and her back arches, drawing out wave after wave of pleasure. I do my best to maintain my rhythm, but her hand that's not still in me clamps over mine, holding me in place as she starts to come down from her high.

We lay there, still and silent with only the sounds of Rachel's labored breaths filling the room. I'm content at seeing her flushed face and her heaving chest, but the white heat reappears immediately between my own legs when her finger pulls out and she slowly re-enters me with two. I groan and clamp down on the intrusion feeling so full and satisfied. She's moving slowly at first, but she's building her rhythm back up and I know I'm not going to last long. Her other hand releases mine and I slide out, feeling her wetness dripping between my fingers and down onto my palm.

She grasps my wrist and directs my hand to her mouth. I crack open one eye and I'm rewarded with the sight of Rachel's tongue reaching out to lick her own juices from my finger. My walls clamp tightly around her digits and I'm pushed even closer to my own release. She's moving faster with every thrust, her palm slapping against my clit and her fingers rubbing against my inner walls with the perfect amount of friction. My ab muscles clench tightly as the fire begins to ignite, starting from my core and radiating out through all of my extremities. My toes are curled and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing myself to hit the peak.

"Come for me, Quinn." Rachel's voice is low and raspy against the shell of my ear. It's all my body needs to start releasing the tension and allowing waves of overwhelming pleasure to start coursing through me. My hips are bucking and I'm panting Rachel's name repeatedly as her fingers continue to move, drawing out every last drop of emotion that's exploding from me.

It seems like an hour by the time my body goes slack against the bed. I'm completely worn out and yet I've never felt so energized in my entire life. I feel Rachel remove her hand from between my legs and it makes me feel empty and lonely until her tiny frame pushes against my side as she cuddles into me. I drink in her warmth and the smell of her honeysuckle shampoo. This is what bliss feels like.

I go home at the beginning of summer vacation with Rachel for a week before I'm due back at work in New Haven. We organize a big barbeque at Brittany's and I walk into the backyard with Rachel's fingers linked through my own. Most of our friends had an inkling of what was going on so they're not really surprised to see us attached at the hip.

"Holy shit! You two finally fucked!" exclaims Santana from clear across the yard. My face immediately goes fuchsia, giving Santana all of the verification that she needed. I turn to catch a glimpse of Rachel and she's beaming with pride.

Santana walks over to us sporting a huge smirk and pulls me away from Rachel.

"Glad you two finally figured your shit out. Your sexual tension was becoming unbearable," she says into my ear as she hugs me. I snort at her statement even though I know she's probably true.

The rest of the afternoon is a perfect day filled with water fights in the pool, the smell of meat (and a veggie burger) on the grill, and ice-cold beer. Rachel prances around in a barely there bikini that has all the boys, myself, and Santana drooling (though she'd never admit that she finds Rachel sexy). Rachel laughs when I squirm in her wet hug, her long hair dripping pool water all down the front of my sundress. I'd do anything to hear that laugh.

Junior year fills up quickly as I start considering what I want to do when I graduate. Rachel is an upperclassmen at NYADA which is pretty much royalty there and she starts getting offers to audition for small roles on Broadway. We still find as much time as possible to visit, but most of my weekends are taken up by schoolwork while Rachel auditions for everything under the sun.

I'm grateful for winter break and the reprieve from my never-ending schoolwork, but Rachel isn't coming home to Lima for the holidays. I spend a couple of days in New York before heading home for Christmas. Rachel is so busy preparing for her role in an upcoming Off-Broadway production that we spend most of the time running through her lines.

Spring semester we see each other even less because Rachel is now working in her show on weekends, which means she can't come to Yale at all. I come down to New York once a month still like always, but it's not the same as it was. Rachel has a new group of friends that are working on the Broadway circuit and she's blossoming into a full-fledged performer. I don't know how I fit into her life anymore.

It's with this in mind that I decide to accompany Santana on a backpacking trip through Europe for the summer. I have money sitting in my trust fund and it seems like the perfect way to spend it. It's a last minute decision, so I go to New York on the last weekend of the semester to let Rachel know I'll be on a plan to London in two weeks.

She's angry and I'm upset and we end up spending our last weekend together fighting. I leave on Sunday with us pretty much agreeing to take a break and re-evaluate where we stand when I get back at the end of August.

June flies by in a blur of the amazing things Europe has to offer. Santana is the perfect travel partner and we rotate between going to museums and historical points for me and going to the touristy places for her. We eat our way though countries and drink ourselves silly. We cuddle, we talk about life, we bitch about how hard love is to maintain. Everything about this trip is what I needed to help me deal with whatever is going on with Rachel. We send generic mass e-mails to our glee friends and our parents whenever we can find an internet café. I feel guilty including Rachel in these, but I don't know what to say to her over the internet one-on-one right now.

During the first week of July we're leaving Italy and heading to France. We e-mail everybody on our last day in Rome and I get a nearly immediate response from Rachel. It's the first time she's responded to any of the messages and my heart leaps a bit at seeing her name in my inbox.

She makes basic small talk in the first long-winded paragraph, asking about the trip and what we've seen and telling me a little about the end of the run for her show. The second paragraph asks me for my itinerary for the rest of the trip so she can keep in touch better.

Santana tells me to not respond and to just worry about talking to Rachel when we're back on the same continent, but I can't resist. I attach the document with our basic itinerary and housing accommodations for the next three weeks.

It's late and Santana and I are drunk as we teeter down the streets of Paris with our arms wrapped around one another. We're laughing and we're carefree, but I go sober as we reach the door of our hotel room. There's a tiny brunette slouches on the floor outside the door next to a bubblegum pink suitcase.

"Hobbit?" Santana says, her tone clearly confused.

Rachel looks up and I see the tears pooling in chocolate eyes. I don't know what to say. Santana moves past us and lets herself into the room, leaving me standing in the hallway. Rachel pushes herself up to her feet. She's a couple of inches shorter than me but she's looking up into my eyes and all I can think about is how beautiful she looks in the dim hallway light.

"Rach, what are you doing here?" It's not accusatory; it's much more curious.

She bursts into sobs and I just stare at her. My eyes feel glassy from all the liquor and I wish desperately that I could be completely sober for this conversation.

"Rachel," I say soothingly, moving closer to her. She tenses when my hand finds her forearm. She's wrapped around herself.

"I'm so-sorry. I was such a jerk and put myself before us," she gets out between sobs.

My heart breaks at her pain. I want to be angry with her for how she pretty much forgot about me. I want to be upset that she didn't bother e-mailing me for the whole first month I was away.

"None of it mattered at all without you. Performing on a stage means nothing when you're not a part of my life. You're my inspiration, Quinn, and I lost sight of that."

"You had Broadway way before you ever had me," I say bitterly. It's true; Rachel's dreams of a future on a New York stage were there before we were ever even friends.

"I can't do it without you," she cries, her voice choked with tears.

"I'm not just going to move to New York to sit and watch you get everything you want in life. I'm sorry, Rachel, but I'm not Finn or any of those other useless guys. I have my own dreams and wishes for my life."

"I don't want you to give up everything for me." Her voice sounds so weak and my resolve is so close to breaking. "I just want us to go back to how we were. Before Broadway and Europe and all of it."

"How are we going to do that, Rach? Broadway is your dream; it's always going to be there."

"But it's not my only dream anymore."

My heart clenches at her words. All I've ever wanted was to mean this much to Rachel.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow? How long are you staying?"

"As long as you let me," she says quietly, meeting my eyes and I feel the fire that accompanies being close to Rachel.

I let us into the bedroom. Santana is passed out on the one bed. I change quickly into my pajamas and brush my teeth before letting Rachel use our bathroom. I give her my bed and I climb in next to Santana. She looks a little hurt by this but doesn't argue with me.

I toss and turn most of the night. I can hear every little sniffle coming from the other bed and I have to repeat my mantra to myself so that I don't move into the other bed to soothe her. I need the space. This is everything I was planning on not dealing with for another month.

The sun is barely up when I finally give up on sleeping and crawl out of the bed. Rachel is sitting up on the other bed already fully dressed. Her cheeks look sunken and pale; her hair is missing that natural shine. I give her a weak smile and grab an outfit from my suitcase on the floor before heading into the bathroom.

I feel a little bit better after I shower. Santana is still sleeping when I emerge so I write her a note and gesture Rachel out of the room. She follows me willingly.

We don't speak as we walk down the roads, weaving a pattern that has become familiar to me from the last three days of being here. I stop at a little café that I've fallen in love with and we take a seat at one of the small outdoor tables. I order us coffee and pastries in broken French. The streets are starting to fill with pedestrians starting their days.

I'm sitting in one of the most romantic places on the face of the earth across from a girl that I've loved dearly for years. It should be a dream come true, but it doesn't.

"Why did you come all the way to Paris?" I ask after the waiter drops off our food and drinks.

"I couldn't stand the thought of spending one more day without seeing you." Her face was serious, willing to tell me anything I want to know to make sense of all of this.

"Why did it take until I was an ocean away for you to realize that you needed to see me? You hardly saw me for months before that. I came to New York and you spent all of your time with your theatre friends at after parties with me just along as a sidekick. Even that was only once a month. How come you couldn't have this big self-discovery then?"

I feel the anger creeping into my system. I've spent so much time trying to suppress it but I just can't do it anymore. She doesn't deserve me sugarcoating how I've felt over the past months.

"I came here to heal, Rachel. You made it obvious that I'm a second priority at best. I know that Broadway is your dream, but I thought I was at least its equal and you showed me that I'm not. But you know what? It's okay. I've got so much to look forward in my life that will be better than being Rachel Berry's second best."

"I was so wrong. I handled everything completely wrong and I want to fix it. I'm in Paris because I want to fix it."

"Telling me that I won't come second doesn't make everything magically better, Rach."

"I know, Quinn. I know that I've messed up in more ways than I can even count. But I've learned a lot too. Nothing in my life matters if you're not there to share it with. I love you so much and the lights just don't shine as brightly when I'm not sure that you still love me back."

"I'll always love you, Rachel. But that doesn't mean that I'll be in your life. You need to give me time. Can we talk when I get back at the end of the month? I need the rest of my trip to figure everything out and I'm flying into New York anyway so we can meet then. I'll send you a message for my return, okay?"

This is obviously not the answer she was hoping for when she jumped on a plane to France on a whim. It was supposed to be this huge romance movie style reunion where we end in happily ever after, but I just can't buy into that right now. She takes it stoically and doesn't fight me. I take her back to the airport after dinner that night and I hug her tightly and wish her a safe flight. Tears are streaming down her cheeks again and I don't resist wiping them away with the pads of my thumbs.

"Three weeks, Rach. We'll talk then." She nods once and then disappears into the security line.

I spend most of the next three weeks of the trip brooding. Santana does everything in her power to return the trip to the fun carefree nature that it had before Rachel's impromptu appearance, but I just can't get back to that place. I still walk through museums and take silly pictures with Santana at all of the main sites, but my heart is no longer in it. All I can think about is what I'm going to say to Rachel when I land in New York.

I'm purposely hazy on the details about my flight that I send to Rachel so that she won't meet me at the airport. I need the subway ride to her apartment to settle my nerves and let me get my thoughts together before seeing her.

I knock and she opens the door. My jaw drops at how awful she looks. It's a million times worse than when I saw her in Paris. She looks like she hasn't eaten or showered in weeks. I've never see Rachel look so frail.

My grand speech goes out the window at the sight of her. The empty shell that has become Rachel is enough to show me that she's been as miserable as I have been over these months. I pull her into me, holding her tiny, weak body tightly as my tears start to flow.

"God, I'm so sorry, Quinn. Just please tell me you'll forgive me someday."

"I forgive you," I whisper against her ear.

I decide to stay in New York for the rest of August and Rachel and I spend the entire time starting over. We talk; really talk, for the first time in a long time. We discuss hopes and dreams. We fall back in love. Everything feels right in the world.

I sign on the dotted line committing myself to Columbia for my Ph.D. in English and Comparative Literature in April of my senior year. Columbia means I can be in New York. New York means Rachel. All of my dreams will finally be in the same place.

As soon as graduation ends, I pack up my car and head for my new home. Rachel sits beside me bouncing happily in her seat and singing along with the radio. When I start my classes in fall, she'll be starting her first role on Broadway. It's still pretty minor, but she gets to sing a duet and it's a foot in the door. All the pieces are falling into place.

We spend the next three months figuring out how to live together with one another's quirks. It's fun and exciting and sometimes stressful, but there's something so amazing about falling asleep next to her every single night.

By the time my classes start, we're into a good routine. I skirt around her in the kitchen as I make us breakfast and she brews the coffee. We sit and eat together at the tiny dining room table before I grab my bag and kiss her goodbye, telling her that I'll be at her show that night. I've already seen it twice, but I can't resist going every time I have the time to do so.

In early November, I start dragging Santana from jeweler to jeweler to pick an engagement ring. She groans about it, but we spend every Saturday before Thanksgiving on a mission to find the perfect one. I finally see the one that I can feel to my bones is exactly what I imagined putting on Rachel's fingers. I pay for it on the spot and Santana sighs in relief at this chore being over.

I sneak Hiram and Leroy away from Rachel as we clean up the dessert dishes after Thanksgiving dinner to ask their permission. It takes all their effort to not squeal loudly over the diamond when I pop open the little velvet box. They embrace me tightly in excitement and we break apart instantly when Rachel walks into the room as I hastily shove the box back into the pocket of my blazer.

I wait until we're back in New York to propose. I pick her up from her show the Saturday after Thanksgiving and we walk along the busy New York streets hand-in-hand. We have a wonderfully simple dinner before we head back to our apartment. There's something so nice about getting to see this laidback side of Rachel that the rest of the world misses out on. We're in our pajamas and she's singing "On My Own" softly as she gets ready for bed. I don't want to wait for some grand moment. This is the time I cherish the most with Rachel. She returns from the bathroom and I take her hands in mine, looking deeply into the chocolate eyes that I've lost myself in so many times before.

The words come easily as I drop to one knee and pull the small box out of the pocket of my sweatpants. She squeals in recognition and practically yanks the ring out of the box to examine it. I take it back only long enough to place it on her finger. She can hardly pull her eyes away from it long enough to kiss me.

Rachel calls out of her first show on Sunday so that she can spend the day spreading the news of our engagement. The two of us sit in front of her computer as we Skype pretty much every person she's ever met so that she can show off her ring. I'm happy to smile beside her because she's absolutely glowing.

The next month, we go out shopping together on Rachel's insistence that I have an engagement ring as well. I sit back and let her browse, determined to force her to pick one out on her own. I'm glad I don't doubt her for a minute when she selects a simple princess cut solitaire on a thin diamond encrusted band. It's completely my taste.

We decide on a late spring wedding in New York. Rachel takes a short leave from her show to prepare for the wedding. Her dads and my mom and stepdad fly in the week before the wedding to help get things ready. By three days before, I'm ready for it to be over. Kurt has gone crazy in his appointment by Rachel as our personal wedding planner. At the rehearsal dinner, he actually snatches a cookie out of my hand and scolds me about needing to fit into my dress tomorrow.

All of the craziness is completely worth it when I see Rachel floating down the aisle flanked on either side by her fathers. She looks like a fairy tale princess and I've never felt luckier than I do in the moment that her fathers give me her hand.

The ceremony is short with our personally written vows. I choke up reciting mine from memory as I gaze into the chocolate brown eyes that are reflecting my emotions. It's over before I can blink and I'm wearing a wedding band in addition to my engagement ring and Rachel is kissing me in front of all of our friends and family.

The whole night is a blur and before I know it, I'm leading Rachel into our marital suite. Tomorrow morning the limousine will pick us up and whisk us away to the airport to leave for our honeymoon. But tonight, it's just about showing my wife how much I truly love her.

Rachel is just beginning her second major run on as the lead on Broadway when I find out that the fertility treatments worked and I'm pregnant. The doctor calls me when I'm on my way home from work with the results of the tests I had done the previous day. I immediately switch trains and head for the theatre, praying I can catch Rachel before her show starts.

I get to the theatre half an hour before her curtain call. The bouncers let me into the back when I flash the VIP pass I got when the show opened. I practically sprint through the hallway until I reach Rachel's dressing room. My heart is pounding in my chest as I knock on the door. She yells for me to enter and I do, taking in the whirlwind appearance of her dressing room. People are putting finishing touches on her makeup and she's already in full costume.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" she asks, her face full of concern.

"Could I have a private minute with Rachel?" I ask the hair and makeup girls and they scurry out quickly, not wanting to piss off the wife of the star of the show.

"What's going on that couldn't wait until after my show?" Rachel questions, looking me right in the face.

"Rach, we're pregnant." She looks at me blankly. "The doctor called me. We're having a baby."

It takes a minute for the news to settle in but then Rachel squeals loudly and grabs me in a tight embrace. I've never felt so happy as I do when I feel Rachel's fingers gently caress my stomach.

There's a knock on the door, which pulls us out of our moment together.

"Mrs. Berry-Fabray, you need to get your makeup finished. Your curtain call is only eight minutes away."

"Go be amazing, sweetheart. Me and baby will be in the front row," I say sweetly, rubbing my own stomach lightly. Rachel beams at me and kisses me again before showing me out of the dressing room.

It's while Rachel is singing in the kitchen that I feel our baby kick for the first time. Apparently her voice is amazing even to our unborn son. I heave myself up from the couch and walk over to Rachel, taking her hand and place it upon his tiny little foot. I wish I could've recorded how happy she looked at feeling him push against her hand on my stomach.

Rachel starts singing to our baby every day. He's going to be well versed in Broadway classics before he can even walk at this rate. Some nights she sings lullabies and I find myself drifting to the melodic sound of her voice. Our son is a lucky boy that he'll get to hear that voice every night as he goes to sleep.

I go into labor a week early and Rachel is a complete disaster. The birth plans were written weeks ago and my bag for the hospital has been sitting at the front door, but she's still a nervous wreck. She hails us a cab and screams at him the whole time to get us there at light speed while still being completely safe. I bite my lip hard and try to not call out during my contractions so that she doesn't become even crazier.

It's a shorter labor than it had been with Beth, but it hurts every bit as much. Rachel holds my hand and tries to remember everything she's learned about breathing and childbirth, but mostly she just squeezes my hand back hard as I push.

The first pinched cry from his mouth is the most wonderful sound in the world. I'm exhausted and I can feel Rachel's tears falling on my hair as they run tests and clean him off. When the nurse brings the tiny bundle over, I let Rachel hold him first, knowing she needs a chance to bond with him after he's spent the last nine months living inside me. She's cooing and crying and I feel my own tears start at the beautiful sight of our son in her arms. She passes him to me and rests him against my chest. He gives a little sigh and snuggles into his blankets. He's my second baby and he's every much as perfect as Beth was the first time I held her. But this time, there's no heartbreak accompanied with the arrival. This time I'll be able to be a mom instead of just a birth mother.

He sleeps in the bassinet beside the bed and Rachel sits on the foot of my hospital bed as we make our final agreements on his name. We had finally gotten the list down to five before I went into labor, but we agreed that we should meet him before he got named. We sign the paperwork for his birth certificate: Skyler Graham Berry-Fabray.

Visitors fly through my room over the next two days until Skyler and I are ready to head home. My mom and Rachel's dads fly in to meet their grandson. My mom helps Rachel around the house and coos over the baby. She gives us helpful mothering tips and cooks us meals so that we can focus on getting used to having a baby in our apartment. Rachel's dads come loaded with gifts for their first grandchild. Skyler is so loved from the minute he appears in the world and I feel thankful for that every second of the day.

Skyler is four when Rachel announces that she wants another baby. Her contract for her latest show will be up in a month and she wants to take a leave from the stage to be pregnant. We're financially stable and my book tour will be over by the time the baby will be born so it's perfect timing. After we put Skyler to bed that night (after singing AND reading), we log into the system to find a sperm donor.

Rachel has a much harder time getting pregnant than I did. She's frustrated and upset every single time the tests come back negative. I wish with all of my heart that I could give her another child. After a particularly emotional day of yet another negative pregnancy test, I ask Rachel if she wants to take a break from trying. This sets her off even more, but I hold her as she sobs in our bed all night.

We don't discuss it again, but we do end up taking a couple of months off of trying. Rachel starts talking about going back onstage and I think our idea of expanding our family have died.

I come home from work a few weeks later completely exhausted from a long day in the office. The lights are dimmed and the table is set for dinner with candles and everything. It seems too quiet in the house.

"Where's Skyler?" I ask, looking around for my little ball of energy.

"Staying with Aunty 'Tana for the night," Rachel responds nonchalantly, moving into the kitchen to carry dinner out to the table.

"What's with all of this?" I ask, taking my seat across from Rachel.

"I'm pregnant," she says, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

"But we weren't even trying," I say, completely confused.

"I never stopped. I just thought that maybe if I didn't get you so stressed about it maybe it would happen for us. And it did, Quinn. We're having another baby."

Seven months later, the twins arrive. I get told to wait outside when they take Rachel in for the C-section. I pace the waiting room with Rachel's dads and Santana waiting to see my wife and my daughters. This is so much more stressful than either of my pregnancies and I'm a mess. Hiram squeezes my hand and Santana tries pushing me into a chair, but I can't stay still.

Finally a doctor pokes his head out and tells me that I can come back. Santana smiles at me and urges me forward until I disappear behind the doors. I get put into scrubs with a facemask before I can enter the room. Rachel looks uncomfortable and absolutely exhausted and I rush over to her, pulling my mask down long enough to kiss her sweaty forehead.

"I want to see our girls," she says softly and I start screaming at nurses until someone finally brings us our daughters. They are so tiny compared to what Skyler had been.

They carefully hand one twin to me that is wearing a bracelet designating her "Baby A Berry-Fabray" and they hand Rachel "Baby B Berry-Fabray." I'm freaked out for a moment because I can't tell the difference between the one in my arms and the one in Rachel's, but then I get too wrapped up in the precious little creature nestled in my arms.

Keagan and Alexis don't get to come home for two weeks because they're so small, but it gives Rachel some time to recover from the C-section and I spend the majority of my day sitting between them in the hospital. When they're finally ready to come home, Santana stays with Skyler so that we can both go to the hospital and bring them home together.

We enter the apartment with two baby carriers and Skyler runs to meet us. Santana slips out the door without a word, leaving us to have our first moments of our family at home. We bring the carriers over to the coffee table and Skyler sits patiently on the couch as we un strap the newborns. I sit on his left with Alexis (designated with a little bracelet engraved with her name so that I don't have to worry about mixing up my kids because it's my hugest fear still) and Rachel holds Keagan on his left. He reaches out a careful hand to both of them, slipping his pudgy fingers into their tiny little fists.

Rachel looks at me over his head and I look deep into the chocolate brown eyes I fell in love with so many years ago.

"All our dreams have come true," she says quietly and I nod over the head of our sandy-haired son. They were our dreams, the ones we built together and worked for every day to achieve. They were here as shown by the Tony Awards sitting on the mantelpieces next to a copy of my first book. It's shown in the faces of our three perfect children. And most of all, it's shared in our hearts forevermore.


End file.
